


Cacophany

by sibley (ferns)



Category: Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, me reading jle: you could make a cope out of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferns/pseuds/sibley
Summary: She really thought she was getting better. And if not better, at least… At least not worse. But she hasn’t had an almost-breakdown about something as dumb and trivial as this in months. Ages. Things had been getting better. Ralph hadn’t relapsed in over a year. Things weren’t getting worse. So why was her body trying to shut down over something so small and dumb and-It all comes out. Over music.





	Cacophany

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes. Things that are comic canon. Are not explored enough. Warnings for references to alcohol abuse, nongraphic discussion of sexual assault, minor transphobia, and someone experiencing that sucking feeling you get inside when you realize that you're not as recovered as you'd thought/wanted to be.

Music. It’s the music. It’s _stupid_ that it’s the music, but Sue _knows_ that it is, that it’s the reason why her chest feels tight and funny and awkward. Like her ribs are pressing in on her lungs.

Being invited to this party was an honor. The people around her are watching her and everyone else like hawks to see what they’ll do, and it’ll be news tomorrow in the tabloids if she runs out of here to get some fresh air like she wants to. There’s a difference between rich and famous, but marrying a superhero with a completely public identity does things to your levels of fame.

Sue stands up a little too quickly and heads as slowly as she possibly can toward one of the side doors leading out onto a spacious property with lots of gardens and fountains. Things that would block out the sound. She doesn’t make it far before running into someone by accident who neatly blocks her path no matter how many times Sue grits her teeth and tries to sidestep.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” Says the blond man who Sue is _quite_ certain she has never met before in her life. “You’ve grown up a lot prettier than I expected. Last time I saw you, you were still knee high and daddy’s little-”

Guessing what he’s about to say next through _decades_ of dealing with people who think that she won’t mind teaching them an entire gender studies class, Sue dumps her water glass (if Ralph was going to insist on coming, she wasn’t going to drink alcohol around them) onto his shirt. “Oops,” she says through gritted teeth, stepping back and setting her glass down on a table that isn’t hers as practically everyone turns to look at her. “You’d better go get a napkin to clean that.”

And then, since she’s already made a scene, she flees. Thank god for fancy shoes without heels, not that there are very many of them. Sure, Sue trips a little over the cobblestones this family decided to make their garden paths out of, but at least she’s not getting a broken ankle, and when she finally makes it to somewhere tucked away enough so that she can’t hear the music from the party anymore, her dress has leaves caught in it and there are some twigs in her hair from taking some, well, _unpaved_ pathways.

Sue tugs the leaves away and tries rather futilely to get comfortable on the cold stone bench, grateful for the fountain in front of her that keeps the other sounds away. At least the night is warm enough that she’s not regretting accidentally leaving her jacket inside. She tries to think about that, about the cool air on her skin, and the dress that _she_ picked out, and the cheap wedding ring on her finger that she loves to pieces, and _anything_ other than the fact that she had a breakdown over something as stupid as _music._

She really thought she was getting better. And if not better, at least… At least not _worse._ But she hasn’t had an almost-breakdown about something as dumb and trivial as this in months. Ages. Things had been getting better. Ralph hadn’t relapsed in over a _year._ Things weren’t getting worse. So why was her body trying to shut down over something so _small_ and _dumb_ and-

“Hey, Bun.” Sue jumps, but only a little bit. If she hadn’t been so lost in thought, she would’ve heard them coming up behind her. “Someone told me they saw you run down through here. Took me forever to find you.” Ralph stepped carefully over the bench and sat down beside her. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know.” She drops her head into their shoulder and they literally wrap their arm around her, squeezing around her shoulders and waist at the same time. “I almost had an anxiety attack in there. Because of the music. Even though I listened to music yesterday and it was _fine_ and it wasn’t even Modorian music, it was just some-I don’t know, classical something or other-”

Ralph squeezes her. “It’s okay, baby. It’s-it’s fine to get set off by the little things. And you’re doing a lot better. Remember how much you hated being touched at first? Now look at you! You came to this stupidly loud party thrown by people you don’t even care about and you-”

“Threw water on someone and ran out like I was on fire?” Sue says dryly, smiling a little. She traces her down to squeeze theirs. “I know I’m doing better about the touching. But I should be able to _handle_ this, you know? I should be able to-to-hell, I don’t know! I’ve been to plenty of parties like this! I’ve been to places playing music, classical and all!”

Ralph looks up the hill toward where they can still see some of the lights through the garden. “Can you hear the music from here? I can’t.”

Sue follows their gaze. A handful of people have gathered in the upper part of the gardens. She subconsciously counts the number, and how many are wearing hats, and what color the hats are, before she catches herself. Ralph’s rubbed off on her. “Me neither. It’s why I stopped. Why?”

“Are you up for going back there? Just a little bit? Until we can hear the music again?” Their grip loosens when she twitches. “If you’re not-”

“I am. I _am._ I can handle a little bit of music.” Sue stands up, brushing off the back of her dress. “I _can.”_

She accepts Ralph’s hand, letting them pull her up the road, taking the paths that she didn’t even notice were there until she can faintly hear the music coming from the house. The scared thing inside of her presses up against her ribs and wants to go back to the cold bench and the rushing fountain in front of it, but instead she forces herself to let Ralph tug her sideways into a small square with a big topiary at the center in the shape of a lion.

Sue doesn’t even notice that she’s pulled her hand out of Ralph’s until she realizes that she’s hugging herself, rubbing at her shoulders like she’s trying to get warm despite the perfectly comfortable weather. Ralph takes a small step forward. Measured. “May I?”

Sue raises an eyebrow. The panic is crawling back into her throat, but it hasn’t quite made its home there yet. “If you’re asking me to dance, Ralph Dibny-”

“Not quite. I just want you to take my hand again. And I want you to answer a question.” They shrug. “You don’t have to.”

Carefully, she grabs their wrist. Not their hand. Ralph doesn’t blink. Wrists are easier for Sue. But they use it to pull her closer anyway, until she’s pressed right up against their chest, nose against that god awful purple tuxedo that she _cannot_ talk them out of wearing whenever they possibly can. “What’s your question?”

Softly, Ralph asks, “Does this feel like something Sonar would do?”

Sue stiffens automatically. The music, the touching, the press of someone’s body against hers-yes. The way the music is quiet, from a distance, the awkward way Ralph is half curled around her instead of standing stiffly straight up, the fact that her dress is soft on her skin and doesn’t hug too tightly, the way that their grip isn’t hard enough to bruise-no. So that’s what she says.

She lets them hold her. The music still makes her heart stutter. She sticks it out for as long as she can, until she feels like her heart is going to climb out of her chest. It’s _stupid,_ it’s ridiculous, it’s not like _he_ even tortured her, not _really,_ and he certainly didn’t use music to do it, and-

“Breathe,” Ralph tells her, and that’s when she realizes that she’s been babbling out loud to them. “It’s okay.”

“He didn’t torture me,” she repeats. “He _didn’t._ He loved me. In some sick, twisted way. He really did. I need to get out of here. I need to go back to the bench, or back home, or- _anywhere,_ I just-I can’t take this!”

“Then let’s go home,” Ralph says simply. “They’re gonna have a field day-since _when_ do Sue and Ralph Dibny skip out on a party?-in those trashy magazines Chandi likes, but it’ll be fine. We can take the long way around too, if you like. Away from the music.”

Sue nods. Ashamed. She shouldn’t be acting like this. Maybe for the first few days after Sonar, but-not _now,_ not like this, not months later, it shouldn’t be-it shouldn’t be this _fresh._ (It’s not like it even hurt.) It shouldn’t be like this. (Well, it hurt, but not as much as she thought, not like it had when-) Why does her throat feel so tight?

Horribly, she realizes she’s crying. _Bawling,_ really. Over some stupid music. At a party she’d been the one to accept the invitation to. Not only is she crying, she’s also shaking, and clinging to Ralph like they’re a lifeline while stumbling backward at the same time. She’s not supposed to be like this. She’s supposed to be able to take anything. The occupational hazard of being the wife of a superhero is kidnappings. Death threats. Harsh interviews.

And what Sue hates even more than that it happened is the fact that she still hasn’t gotten over it, still hasn’t sucked it up and put on her normal face and been able to pretend that absolutely everything is alright, that she doesn’t still have nightmares, that she still has sex with her spouse, that-hell! Everything! With the Europe and then International League it was okay, because there wasn’t long to pretend, and she only really had to pretend to be okay in front of Chandi because she was just a kid.

“You can let it out, Suzie,” Ralph whispers, and Sue listens to the music stop as she bites her lip, takes a deep breath, and finally tells the love of her life about the nights when they were dying and she was alone with Sonar.

It’s not the best place for it. She’d rather have done it at home. At night, preferably, when they could sleep on it. Sue would’ve wanted it to be on her terms, not because she got so overwhelmed by something as simple and mundane as _classical music._ (Maybe it sounds just a little too similar to the music he played at night. Maybe.) And certainly not in a stranger’s garden in front of an objectively fairly ugly topiary.

But that’s where it happens. That’s where it comes out. Sue finishes and squeezes her eyes shut and lets Ralph pull her to where their car is waiting to take them home. They don’t say anything. Sue can tell that they’re angry. She needs angry. Anger is better than pathetic sobbing. Anger is better than Ralph pressing her for more detail.

They knew about Light. Of course. And they must’ve _guessed_ about Sonar. Bito. But she didn’t say it.

Now she has.

Before they even get to the car, taking the long way to avoid the music just like Ralph promised, she grabs them around the middle tightly. “I love you. I love you so much. And I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” They sound genuinely surprised. Of course they do.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Sue says honestly. “I wanted it to be at home. I wanted it to be months from now. When everything was totally normal again. I wanted it to be just us, comfortable, and I wanted it to be because I wanted to tell you. Not because of music.”

“I’m glad you told me anyway. Even if you didn’t want to. Even if it makes me want to fly to whichever high-security prison they’re hopefully keeping him in and spend some quality _alone time_ with him.” Ralph looks at her. Earnest. And still angry. “I’m glad you told me, Bun. I really, really am.”

Right then, Sue herself can’t be glad that she did. Her head hurts from crying and so does her throat and her cheeks are hot from the shame of crying like this and her stomach hurts with anxiety and she just wants to go home and take a long nap and maybe not wake up for ten years. That would be nice.

But years later, when Sue realizes that things really are starting to be okay again, for real this time, she will be. Even if it was over music.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're one of the three people that reads this, I'm danteramon on tumblr.


End file.
